Mommy Has Prickers!

The other day I was sitting on the couch (which I promise in actuality I rarely do). The kids and I were getting ready to watch Monsters Inc. for the 5,432nd time. I feel like those characters are a part of my family, and I have sort of an obligation to have them on the TV almost (every) day. Weird, huh?

Well anyway, I was wearing shorts because:

1.) The weather has been lovely and warm lately
2.) I can actually fit into them since I've been running
3.) And I wasn't going anywhere so I didn't care about the pale pastiness of them.

Max was being in a good-natured, affectionate mood and casually rubbed his hand along my calf. Instantly, I was taken aback by his scream.




He screamed, "Ouch!" and recoiled his hand from my leg, inspecting it with horror and amazement. I asked, "What is it? What's wrong??"

He studied my leg for a moment, the same way he would look at ants on the sidewalk. At this point, Maeve also became interested.



Max quickly warned Maeve to avoid touching my legs, "Don't touch, Maeve! Mommy has prickers!" You see, I hadn't shaved the night before. And maybe not even the night before that. Obviously it had gotten to the point where - to Max's observant eyes - I had prickers growing out of my legs. And these prickers were sharp enough to illicit a screaming "OUCH" from my child.

He then also started to think of other things to compare my stubbly legs to - like a saw.

I went upstairs and put on a pair of sweatpants. Despite my solid list of reasons to wear shorts, I just wasn't quite ready for short season. And neither were my kids...

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Doctor Woes

Having a conversation with a four-year-old is like talking to a schizophrenic. The topic starts at one place and then migrates nonsensically to other places, never returning to the original topic or anything even remotely relating to the original topic. This type of conversing can be very unsatisfying if you are the type of person who likes closure. However, if you are a scatter-brained mommy like myself, these conversations can be quite amusing.

Sometimes.

Other times they can be unsettling. Disturbing even.

The other day Max and I were sitting on the couch having one of these round about discussions. It started like this:




Seems nice, right? I thanked him and told him that he had pretty hair too - when he let me brush it. (You can never miss a parenting opportunity in my opinion.)

Then the digression began.




This is a common complaint around our house. It usually means he just has a little excessive earwax build up. Or sometimes he's just fabricating an ailment to get attention. One of these days he's going to have an actual ear infection, but I probably won't believe him.

I said, "Oh no! We need to go to the hospital immediately."

He was silent for a moment of introspection. Then:




This comment isn't entirely unexpected from a four-year-old. But the next one was. Very unexpected.




For a brief moment, which doesn't happen often in my life, I was at a loss for words. My son thought a thermometer was synonymous with a screwdriver. It occurred to me suddenly how excruciating that must feel - to think that getting your temperature taken meant that you are getting a screwdriver stuck up your ass. I wondered momentarily if he meant an electric screwdriver or a simple Phillips head, but I didn't ask, don't worry.

"Max, it's called a thermometer, not a screwdriver. And the doctor never puts it in your bottom. She puts it under your arm."

But truth be told, being a nurse who strives for an accurate temperature, I do sometimes take his temperature rectally. But never, never, never again.**

Apparently his angst about large metal objects in his rectum didn't phase him as much as me.



"Yes, let's go. Right now!" I said, relieved by the schizophrenic break.

Why couldn't we have just stayed with the "mommy you have pretty hair" topic?

**The one caveat to the no rectal temperatures is if the horribly inaccurate under the arm method says 103 or higher. Then he's getting the screwdriver - errr, I mean thermometer - up the butt.

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A Little Too Friendly

Tonight, I had both kids in the shower with me. It had been a long day, and I wanted shower time to be quick and efficient. I was preoccupied, washing my hair. I heard giggling down below, which is better than snarling or screaming, so I ignored it. I remember feeling slightly guilty that my kids were getting clean with my dirty water. But not very guilty.

Then, Maeve's bird-like chirping voice said, "I hug you, Max."

I continued to wash my hair and said, "Awwww. Isn't that nice." I was happy to have that moment of peace with the soap, the warm water, and my hair.




I continued with my routine. I washed my face. Then I washed the children's faces because I hate doing it and like to get it out of the way. Then I shaved. The kids helped to lather up my legs. They continued to be quite friendly. Oddly so. There was no teasing, pushing, or annoying behavior.

Then, again, Maeve's chirpy voice said, "I kiss Max."

I looked up from my shaving to see the kiss right on the lips. "Isn't that nice?" I said. Even though part of me felt a little uneasy about it. I mean, at what age does it become inappropriate to kiss your brother on the lips? Certainly not at two and four! Right??




They parted ways. Maeve giggled ominously. I didn't think giggling could be ominous, but it can. She knew exactly what she was going to do next. Meanwhile, the rest of us were naively finishing up our shower, scrubbing tummies, fingers, and toes. We let the toy boat make one final pass down the current of the shower floor.

Then it happened. Max and Maeve were facing each other, and she reached over, and pulled his penis. Almost automatically, she did it again. She then was completely overcome with laughter, as if the act of pulling a penis is truly extraordinary. Max didn't mind any of it. Not one bit. But I sure did. I said with firm animation, "Do NOT pull your brother's pecker - it's rather inappropriate!"



And what did she do? She pulled it again. And again. Until I quickly got us out of the shower. Now that, everyone would say, is a little too friendly?

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Dear Maeve

Dear Maeve,

After two years of having you warmly pressed against me all night, nursing as you please, I have decided that it must come to an end. I'm not a very nice person when I don't get good sleep, and I really haven't had good sleep in over four years, so that should serve as an excellent excuse to be a complete bitch all of the time. But how healthy is that? Do you want a bitchy mother who snuggles with you at night or a pleasant mother who sleeps alone and could make snow angels in the bed if she wants?




So being that you are two and are incapable of making logical decisions, your daddy and I made it for you. I would sleep in the big comfy king bed with Max while daddy sleeps in the much less comfy double bed with you. Daddy would like to state for the record that he wants to get back in the big comfy bed with mommy, but I told him that we need to focus on making my snow angels first.

On that first night of you in the other bed, I was anxious, distraught, and guilty. I thought it would look like this:




I thought no one would get any sleep. I thought you would cry out for me. I thought you'd ask to nurse, the only way you knew to comfort yourself since the day you were born. I felt sick from the anticipation of it. I put you to sleep like we normally do, lying down in bed nursing you. But then I left and daddy took my place. He fit almost as perfectly as I do nestled beside you. You slept. I thought for sure that daddy would bring you to me in the big, comfy bed in the middle of the night, but he didn't. I tossed and turned. I missed my baby. Dare I say you were more a little girl on that night than a baby. You were finding comfort in something else other than your mother's breast.

At about 5 o'clock am, I couldn't resist any longer. I crept out of bed to peek on you. And this is what I saw:



And this is the part where I'm a little ashamed. In that moment, I just wasn't ready for you to be my little girl. I wanted my baby in my bed. So I snatched you up and moved us back to the big, comfy bed. I won't do it again. I just wanted to do it that one last time. I'm happy that you are secure enough to sleep without me. I just hope I'm secure enough to sleep without you.

Because sometimes making snow angels can get cold and lonely.

I love you, sweet girl, and I'm proud of you for making this transition so well.




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It's Yuck

Maeve and I were sitting on my bed tonight. I was trying to relax and watch Netflix on my iPad while Robert entertained the queen and king of loud downstairs. But she apparently broke loose and beat on my bedroom door yelling, "Mommy, mommy! Un-ock da door. I wanna hold you." Well, how can you answer "no" to that?

We were playing a question and answer game. It goes like this: I point at a body part and ask, "What is this?" and she will respond with the correct name about 83.6% of the time. The other times she either runs away to begin a new game or she says, "Nooooo I don' wanna pay dis. Bad mommy, bad!"

So, knowing the possible consequences of playing the game could leave me feeling a little "less than," I asked her, "What is this?" while pointing to my eye. She cocked her head to the side contemplatively and said, "It's eyes." Then she stuck her warm sticky finger into my eyeball. And, before I could see well enough to deflect further injury, she began pulling my eyelashes giddily.




The game continued in this fashion. I said, "What is this?" and pointed at my hair. She patted me on the head and said, "It's har." Sometimes the way in which she answers my questions make me feel like I should be the kid and she should be the grown up.




I feel closest with my children when I am engaged with them one-on-one, even if it is interrupting a dramatic love sequence on Downton Abbey. We were having our own dramatic love sequence right now and here, though the drama came from not knowing which body part was going to get pulled, poked, or gouged.

This time I asked, "What's this?" and pointed to my nose. She eagerly replied, "It's a nose" and stuck her finger alarmingly far up my nose and giggled hysterically.




After her laughing subsided, I asked, "What is this?" and opened up my mouth wide. For even more entertainment value I said, "Ahhhhhhhh" with my mouth open like I was at the doctor's office. Maeve immediately recoiled from my open mouth as if something I had done offended her. And this is what she said:



Apparently my breath was that bad.

Then she ran off to find another game that didn't stink.

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Trying to Save the Earthworms - FAIL

Before I had kids, I loved the rain. It was an excuse to be lazy, lounge around, and watch reruns of Law and Order. And if there was a thunderstorm, I looked at it like it was an adventure. If the electricity went out, I lit candles and pretended I was a Pilgrim. Yes, I'm a bit dramatic at times. Oh, and notice below how skinny I am.




Now that I have kids, I HATE the rain. It means we can't go outside. And that means my house gets trashed. And we all annoy the hell out of each other. And we get stir crazy. And then if it starts thundering, things really go downhill. Especially if my kids are sleeping and it wakes them up. Then I feel like punching out the sky and saying a lot of nasty words. And forget the candles. My kids would either get third degree burns or set the house on fire.

Also, I hate the entire day after it rains because everything is all wet. That means we can go outside but if we play on anything, our butts get wet. And our shoes get wet. And if we fall down, it's a disaster because our whole body gets muddy and wet.




But we go outside anyway because staying inside sucks even more.

Well just the other day was one of those "it's all wet" days. We were in our front yard running around on our marsh of a front yard. I was actually standing on the driveway thinking about how muddy their shoes were getting. That's when I noticed it. I looked down and saw an earthworm wiggling on the driveway, making very little progress and, in my assessment, looking quite distressed. So I bent over to pick it up and throw it on some earth. Of course Max and Maeve were immediately up my ass wondering what I was doing.




Max asked, "Whatarya doin'?" He asks this question about 1.7 times every minute.

"I'm moving this earthworm to the dirt," I said.

"Why?" he asked. He asks this question about 2.23 times every minute.

"Because if he stays on the driveway, he will dry up and die," I said.

Both of my children were silent. This normally happens 0 times every minute.

Perhaps they were contemplating death. Perhaps they were thinking about how fleeting life really is. Perhaps they were thinking about how we are all like earthworms, writhing around and hoping we don't dry up.

But no, they weren't thinking about those things. They were thinking about all of the earthworms. Max looked down the driveway and spotted another earthworm. "Look!" he screamed dramatically and pointed. "There's another earfwarm!" He ran over to it. Unfortunately, upon further inspection, this earthworm had either been run over or pecked in half by a bird. It was dead.

"Hey buddy," I said softly, trying to break it to him softly. "That one is dead."

Max balled his hands into fists, looked up to the heavens, and screamed, "Nooooooooo!!!!! He's not dead, mommy!" He leaned over and tried to pick up the earthworm carcass. That's when he realized how truly gross it is to pick up an earthworm, especially a water-logged dead one. "Ewwwww!" he exclaimed.




"Um. Yeah let's just leave it there. You want to go splash in some puddles?!" I asked. Because getting wet shoes is way better than saving all the earthworms in the world. And discussing death with your three-year-old.

Why do those stupid earthworms crawl onto the driveway to dry out into crispy bits anyway?



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Bad Kitty

Lately there have been some things going on in my bed that are really hurting my feelings. No, it's not that Robert has been telling me that I look fat in my jammies. He wouldn't dare do that because it would reduce his chances of having sex from 1.2% to 0.002%. Also, if you remember, Robert's sleeping with Max in Max's room in an attempt to get him out of our bed. It's working, but it's also worked at getting Robert out of our bed.

So anyway. Let's get back to my hurt feelings. I've gotten used to snuggling Maeve's warm little body at night. I like to give her little kisses. And smell her sweet head.




But recently Maeve has been saying some pretty nasty things in her sleep.




Last night she rolled over, slapped me, and shouted, "No! Bad kitty!!!"

I figured she just had a bad dream. I mean I have bad dreams about my cats all the time. Usually they are meowing, scratching, or pissing.

So I snuggled back up to her, smelled her little head, and drifted back to sleep. For like 15 seconds.




She pushed me away again. I mean she really gave me a good shove. And said, "Nooo! Go. Bad candy!" She never opened her eyes. Did she think candy was trying to snuggle with her? I scooted over a bit, gave her a some space. I must have fallen back to sleep and found my way back over to her. But again, I found myself pummeled across the chest by Maeve's swinging arms and legs.




She yelled, "No Gamma!!" That's what she calls my mom.

At this point I've turned over and really hoped she just shuts the hell up so I can get some sleep. It's one thing snuggling with my two-year-old (almost). But with the cat, some candy, and my mom, the bed has become a bit crowded.



Maybe I'll start putting Max to bed instead. This cosleeping thing is a real bitch!

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